by Molly Hoffer
Needless to say, I didn’t get a good night’s rest, as every toss, turn, snort, or knock somewhere in the house made me jump a bit. I’d open my eyes, look around to see what was going on, see that Nick was dead asleep next to me, and would try to shut my eyes and get some sleep, only to hear some new strange noise. I think one of the things that was bugging me were rats, as I found one crawling in the kitchen that morning.
In the morning, Sam was pretty grouchy as Nick made all of us some toast and coffee to start the day.
“You here!?” Sam asked when he woke up, surprised for a moment, and then he recalled some glimpse of last night, and came down a bit, though he was still pretty dissatisfied to be burdened with his “grown-ass kid” again.
This attitude made Nick feel pretty bad about the situation. He took me outside for a “walk,” but really to have a pow-wow chat.
“I really gotta get a job,” he said, as we were slowly walking down the street, which was pretty friendly-looking in the mornings, as people got in their cars to go to work or to take their kids to school. There were a few kids waiting to take the bus, but they were smiling, and didn’t look as malicious as those same kids looked after darkness was closing over their features.
“I didn’t mean for you to lose the job… Maybe you can just go back to work, as if nothing happened? It’s not that late, you can take the train down there,” I said in reply to his statement.
“No way, not after your parents said all that. They’d probably call the cops.”
“No! Why?! What would they tell them?!”
“I don’t know and I don’t want to find out.”
“All right, if you don’t feel comfortable, you shouldn’t go. I guess finding a new job makes sense…” I thought about telling him that I had some cash and working cards on me, but then I figured that a new job wouldn’t be that big of a deal. I mean, he had worked as a handyman for a couple of years, according to his resume, before he re-discovered me, so what was the big deal about him doing a bit more work.
Well, Nick didn’t even go back inside, and just went out to get some work. I believe he went down to that place where guys wait around in a line for people to come by and pick the strongest men out of the crowd. He came back at 7pm with paint on his shirt, so I think he was hired to paint a house. He got similar odd jobs, doing construction, or temporary maintenance gigs over the next couple of months, and we scraped by OK.
Because we had food and a place to stay, I procrastinated figuring out how or if I could get my company or access to my loan back. Staying in the studio with Sam while he was dealing crack wasn’t my cup-of-tea though, so I spent most of my day in coffee shops or at the library. I got it into my head that I always wanted to write a novel. I felt as if I suddenly had more “life experience,” now that I had lived in poor circumstances, a contrast that made me feel as if my perspective was too limited when I had spent all of my life living in a crystal palace. So, instead of focusing on getting my money back, I wrote ten-hours-a-day, and in a couple of months wrote around half-a-novel. At that point, I gave it to Nick and asked him to tell me what he thought. I thought he’d say he loved it, like the adorable baby I thought it was. But, he said it was fluffy and airy rubbish, and that I should take my head out of the clouds. He was pretty tired from constructing a set of stairs that day, so maybe he just wasn’t in a good mood. But, when I re-read the novel with this criticism in mind, I did realize that it had fallen far short of my grand ambitions for it. I abandoned it in the middle, and started looking around for some other scheme to occupy my time.
While we had enough food, and a decent couch to sleep on in those months, we didn’t have a place to screw like rabbits, as we were used to doing at my place. Sam “worked” from home, and was always around, selling, smoking, or passed out after a long night partying and smoking. With him constantly there, we didn’t have a place of our own to fuck in.
Once, we tried making out in a theater, but I just couldn’t get on top of Nick and fuck him in public, even if we were in the back row, and the theater was nearly empty. I also couldn’t imagine suggesting that Nick should use his hard-won money for us to rent a motel room, when we had a place to stay and only needed a room for the luxury of sexual intercourse. This gradual build-up of sexual tension added to my growing frustration with the situation. It started to feel as if our universe was collapsing and suffocating us, and we both were desperate for a miraculous rescue, but none came, and it became clear that if I ever wanted to live somewhere other than in a crack house, I had to make a business and a legal move to get us out.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
To resolve our financial vows, I applied for a few hundred jobs in finance, marketing, and general management fields. I did after all have a degree from Columbia, and a few years of experience in Kashion and a few more of running my own successful business. I got a lot of “no’s” because I didn’t have enough experience specifically as an accountant or entirely in marketing. There were a few template “no’s” that suggested that I was too overqualified, and they thought I wouldn’t stay long. The search took around a month, but finally I was invited for an interview with a Brooklyn-based furniture designer that wanted me to supervise their development office.
Their office was only a few subway stops away from my house, and I looked very sharp in a skirted business suit at the interview. They asked about my last name, and after hesitating, I confirmed, “Yes, I am that Vanessa Szabo.” This satisfied their curiosity, and I guess none of the other employers really put the name together with where I used to work. I mean, how many people know the last name of the family that runs WalMart? They asked me if they could run a press release announcing that I started working for them. I was a bit embarrassed about working in that small shop, after my illustrious prior career, so I asked them to not put out a press release themselves, but to confirm if somebody from the press called them to ask.
I started work that Monday, and had a surprisingly easy time of it. But, because they couldn’t put out a press release to improve their sales about me, they stuck to their guns and only paid me $12 an hour, pretty much a receptionist’s wage. While this wasn’t much, I finally had enough money to move out of the crack house at the end of that month, when the paycheck came in. I was basically keeping the company’s accounts, processing payroll and timesheets, and supervising everything from cleaning to designers for very little. Still, when the check arrived, it meant that I could rent a small studio of my own, and stop living in a compromising legally situation from which filing a lawsuit against my powerful family was inadvisable. Without telling Nick, because he was working that day on a construction project, I looked at a few studios, found one that I liked and put up a deposit on it, using my cash-on-hand and the paycheck. I didn’t ask Nick also because I didn’t want to ask him to spend his money on it. And I didn’t want to go through the long conversation where I would explain just how much I hated the smell of crack at night, and knowing that there were prison-worthy quantities of crack stacked away in the house where I legally resided.
I got the keys to the new place and went back to the studio to wait for Nick’s arrival. Nick came home late that night, and I had spent a few very awkward hours sitting at the kitchen table after I had packed my bags, not talking with Sam, who was singing, measuring out crack, and sold a few ounces to some guys that stopped by for them.
“Nick, I have great news!” I exclaimed, trying to regain my sense of excitement, as Nick came in.
“Yea? What?” He looked exhausted and was eyeing the couch with the aim of landing on it before or after I said what I was planning to say.
“I found a new apartment! I got my paycheck today,” I exclaimed.
“You got a new apartment?! And you didn’t ask me if it would work for me?!” Nick was angry, but so tired that he sat down on the couch, which was facing away from me. To keep eye contact I sat on the couch next to him. He had put his head into his hands and was shaking it in dejected gloom.<
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“I knew you’d be out during business hours all week, so I had to go apartment hunting on my own. Are you working this Saturday too?” I asked, looking for a solid explanation that would focus him on the good news and not on the minor scheduling issue that made it impossible to preview the place.
“And you expect me to move with you?” he finally said.
“Yea… Why wouldn’t you? I’ve been living here with you. You lived above my shop with me? We lived together before… What’s the news?”
“Did you consider that I might want to stay close to this area? To my dad maybe?”
“No, I thought that we were just staying there because we couldn’t afford staying anywhere else.”
“Well, I grew up around here, and I went to school for a few years here, so this is like my home.”
“The new place is also in Brooklyn? Or do you mean this block? It’s not like you’re friends with anybody around here?”
“I say ‘hi’ to the local guys.”
“Come on, who wouldn’t want to get out of this neighborhood. But, if you like it, the place I got is so cheap it’s not too far away, so you’d still have the same vibe.”
“I just think that you got this job and this new place to get away from me,” Nick said, and kept his face hidden, as if he was tearing up.
“No, you’re my little baby, my darling sweetie,” I started pet talking to him, and kissing his closed hands.
“You don’t have to say that, you can just go, and not even tell me you’re going.”
“I’m not leaving you, come on, just take a look at this place. It’s in the attic, at least we won’t be in a basement anymore; there’ll be more light…”
“Fine, whatever,” Nick agreed. When he took his hands away from his eyes, they were dry, so if he cried a bit, he was somewhat manly about it.
It took him a few minutes to pack his old bag, and to grab a sleeping bag for us to share. Then he yelled to the locked bathroom door, “Bye Sam, we’re gonna stay in a new place. Hope business will be good for you.”
“Yea, yea, bye kid! Have a nice life,” Sam yelled in a raspy voice from the restroom.
And with that, we were off. As I guaranteed, the new place wasn’t too far away, and we had unpacked and did some minimal cleaning in an hour. We didn’t really have the vacuum cleaner, and a general solution cleaning spray to seriously get that dusty place in shape, but it was too late for us to do anything else but get in the sleeping bag.
Being in that confined puffy bag with Nick’s naked body right behind me really turned me on. I turned around, and kissed Nick on the lips, stroking his cheeks. This woke him up, and gave him an instant hard-on. He started kissing and massaging me a bit rougher than usual, as he seemed to have realized, as I did, that we hadn’t screwed in a couple of months. Our sexual frustration was released in pretty athletic pelvic exercises, which were a bit tricky to achieve in that narrow sleeping bag. My goal was to stay in the zipped bag and to avoid letting my hair, a hand or a boob slip out onto the dusty floor under the bag. While we could smell the dust in addition to our sexual juices as we carried on, our sweat and sexual toil distracted us enough for these rough elements to almost be an additional turn-on. We both orgasmed in unison, with Nick coming inside of me for once because we didn’t have the energy to get a condom, and didn’t want to leave his manly juices all over the bag we were sharing. After that, we didn’t have running water to freshen up, so we just passed out into a heavy slumber until my cell phone alarm clock rang next morning, which was a workday for me.
On the next morning, we were starving after all that screwing, so after tossing on what we had that wasn’t too sticky, we went to the corner coffee shop for breakfast. I brought my toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, and facial wash with me, and did my basic morning ritual in there, as a couple of customers came in and used the restroom. They stared at me as if I was some mad homeless woman, and considering how I looked between my cum-like smell, sticky hair, and questionably clean outfit, I would’ve given myself the evil-eye too. Anyway, I really couldn’t care less what they thought, as I was just trying to get everything done in the half an hour I had before I had to depart for work on a new subway route. I grabbed a quick bagel and coffee, and wished Nick a good day before darting out of the coffee shop and rushing to the subway station, which was a couple of blocks away.
Nick went to his construction job shortly afterwards, and we ate dinner in that same shop when we got home.
I was a couple of minutes late, which since I was the manager, didn’t bother anybody much. The owner happened to be on the site later that day, and he noticed that my hair was stickier and dryer than usual, and that my overall style had suffered, but didn’t comment on it. I mean, while I was living in the crack-house, I wasn’t exactly buying the latest styles, and my old stylish stuff was pretty worn-down after all those machine-wash cycles. I couldn’t focus on work much that day because I was busy with all the stuff that had to be done immediately to make our new place livable. The first thing I did that morning was to call everybody involved in connecting our utilities, which was a list of like five companies, between the internet, the water, the electricity, etc., etc. Some of them could only be connected on the next day, like the water, which was frustrating because we had to wash and use the restroom in the restaurant for another day. Nick even suggested that we move back to Sam’s place until the water was running, but I didn’t want to hear about it, and argued that it was too long of a trip to go back and force.
Our trips to get a bed base, a mattress, a folding table and chairs, and a few other necessities over the next few evenings were completely exhausting. We had to make several trips to drag each of those big items via the subway from the mega-store on the other side of Brooklyn. Nick didn’t know anybody with a car, and I would’ve died of shame before I’d call Meg and ask her drag that crap with the help of her limo.
Needless to say, we didn’t get horny much before all these moving tasks were done, and a day or two after they were finished. That weekend, though, everything was in as good an order as we could get it, and we did it on the new folding bed that we had put all that sweat into dragging into our rooftop cave. It was a queen-sized bed, and it creaked and shifted every time I hopped up and down over Nick’s cock. The mattress was barely thick enough for us not to feel the metal bars below. But, it was more comfortable and spacious than doing it in a sleeping bag.
Since I now had a desk of my own and a private internet connection, I began researching my legal rights in regards to my trust and my business. This project quickly started consuming all of the time I had free after work, including evenings and weekends. I had to find a ton of books and websites on related subjects, and not only read these for information, but I also had to begin drafting legal briefs, memos, press releases, and formal letters, as well as new contracts and petitions just to begin the long process involved in fighting for my rights. I wanted to understand my position long before I hired a lawyer because I couldn’t be sure I had the money to afford a lawyer. I didn’t want to go bankrupt and end up back in the crack-house, just to pay the lawyer off, in case the lawsuit didn’t go my way.
Because I was constantly working, my mood once again kept me disinterested in fucking. Nick’s stamina, on the other hand, returned to normal, as he started taking fewer construction shifts, and frequently watched TV as I worked. Watching reading and writing is perhaps more sexually stimulating than attempting these at long stretches, if Nick is a fare barometer for this. He’d come over after a couple of hours watching TV, and would kiss my neck and even pulled up my blouse and would kiss my nipples, until even my stern focus mutated into arousal.
Still, recalling that I had work to be done, meant that I orgasmed at the first near-climax, while usually I’d stop and ask Nick to stop sucking my clit or fucking me when I felt as if I was almost there. Seeing that I was in a rush, Nick happily also shortened his own ejaculation timing.
While the situa
tion wasn’t ideal, we were moving along smoothly until one day, I received a frantic phone call at work from Nick.
“I’m at the hospital!” he panted.
“What happened!?” I replied, feeling my heart quicken.
“I fell off a roof.”
“Oh my god! Who let you call out if you just fell off a roof!? Shouldn’t you be resting?!” I was panicking.
“I don’t have a concussion. It’s my leg.”
“OK. How bad is it?”
“It’s broken. They had to put it back in place. I got here in the morning and they finally did it. There were some stitches. I’m on a lot of morphium, but all that isn’t the problem.”
“Morphium?”
“I mean opium… I think it’s kicking in.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“They showed me the bill!”
“Jesus! For a broken leg?! That must be an arm and a leg!”
“It is that. So…”
“We’ve got only enough saved to pay for basic expenses this month. Can’t they give you an uninsured discount? You know, just go to sleep, and don’t worry about it. I’ll come over there now and I’ll talk with them.”
Going to sleep sounded good to Nick who had gone from frantic to woozy during our conversation, and after saying, “All righty, bye,” went into a psychedelic sleep.
I figured out how to get to the main Brooklyn hospital via the subway, and in a couple of hours I was in the lobby. I asked the owner of my furniture design shop for the rest of the day off, saying that my… “fiancé” had broken a leg at a construction site.
The front desk clerk gave me the run-around, telling me to go see the wrong rep to figure out the bill. Then I was directed to the finance department, but they questioned if I could even see him if I wasn’t “related” to him. I almost said that he was my “foster brother” when they started questioning me about if we were “related.” But, I quickly realized that he might have said that his girlfriend was going to come down to figure the bill out, and that if we explained that we were living together and that we were kind of semi-siblings, they might have called the cops on us instead of giving us a discount. So, I just said that we were “co-habiting” and that he didn’t have any relations that were sober enough to help out. Seeing how I could’ve potentially paid the enormous bill they otherwise would’ve had to apply as a tax-deductible loss, they accepted my story and presented me with this legendary bill.
